Sixty
by emeraldorchids
Summary: Miranda is faced with sixty days to make an important decision.


****Title: Sixty****

 ** **[[[Andrea's POV]]]****

I had been working for Miranda Priestly for the past twenty-two months and sleeping with her for the past six weeks. Two months ago, I accepted a position at _The Atlantic_ , and subsequently handed in my notice: I would remain at _Runway_ for sixty days, just long enough to hire and train a new set of assistants for Miranda.

To say I didn't want Miranda to leave my bed this morning was putting it mildly. While our time was split equally between my apartment and her townhouse, the nights spent in my bed were somehow more passionate, desperate even. Miranda had always said she was worried about the girls or her housekeeper or somebody walking in at her place, but I knew there was something else.

After prying my arms off her torso, she stood and grabbed her robe, making her way into the bathroom. I wasn't surprised to learn she had multiple, identical grey robes, though her decision to keep one draped across the chair in _my_ bedroom left me speechless.

I knew this routine very well. She had a late dinner with a designer, and instead of going home to an empty house, she would send me a text to make sure I was home, and then come spend the night with me. It meant not enough sleep for either of us, and an extra-early morning for her since she would have to slip out early in the morning to get home, but it was worth it to her, so it was worth it for me.

* * *

 **[[[Miranda's POV]]]**

She finally handed in her notice. I would be losing my best assistant in sixty days, but it would be more than that. Andrea was more than that to me.

"Miranda?"

I looked up at the brunette, startled from my thoughts. "Yes?"

"The run-through? You asked that we push it up to noon today. It's 11:45 and everyone is ready," she said. God, I was going to miss her efficiency.

"Fine," I said. "I will never understand why no one in this place can tell time," I muttered as I slipped back into character.

That didn't last for long, though. All afternoon, the only thing I could think about was her sixty days. It wasn't enough time. It worked out to about eight weeks—that's forty weekdays. Thirty-nine if today counts. I tried to hide it, but I think Andrea knows me well enough to see through it. I hope she can see through it, because then I won't need to say it out loud.

I stepped out of my office around 6:30 that evening to go peruse the new Dior collection that would be arriving in the Closet momentarily. I opened my mouth to say something to Andrea, but she was in the middle of a conversation on her cell phone—with her brother, it sounded like. She was telling him all about her new job, and they were planning their backpacking tour of Europe that was apparently happening after the sixty days and before her time at _The Atlantic_.

"Did you need something?" she asked, covering the mouthpiece on her phone.

"No," I said, marching past her desk. I felt the tears pooling in my eyes and immediately detoured for the women's restroom. Shutting the door behind me, I bent over and silently screamed. I knew I was ruining my makeup, but I couldn't help it. I needed to get these emotions out.

By the time I pulled myself together, it was nearly seven o'clock. I took the long way back to my office, effectively circling the entire floor of the building until I was back at my office.

"Why are you still here?" I asked. Andrea looked up at me in surprise, and I quickly realized I said that out loud.

"Um, I was finishing up some things, putting together lists for whoever replaces me, saving my files to our dropbox so that you or anyone else can have access to them after July," she said.

I could feel the tears starting once again. "I'm going home," I said, snatching my bag and coat from the second assistant's desk. I needed to get out of there. Once I was out of the elevators, I saw Roy waiting for me. His expression changed when he clearly saw my tears. "Home?" he asked. I nodded and hurried into the car.

At home, I didn't know what to do with myself. The girls were upstairs doing homework. I went to the kitchen to heat up a plate, but I wasn't hungry. I poured myself a drink, but it wasn't sufficient. Dragging myself upstairs, I decided to take a shower.

"Hi girls," I said, quietly stepping into their bedroom. "I have a really bad headache tonight, so I am going to take a hot shower and go to bed. Do you need anything?"

"Nope," they said in unison. "Cass is done with her homework, and I'm just finishing up my Social Studies questions. Hope you feel better," Caroline said.

"Thank you. Goodnight sweethearts." I knew it was selfish of me, but I couldn't help it. I needed this. I needed Andrea. I could not exist without her at my side.

That night was interesting to say the least. I began by crying myself to sleep, woke from an unsettling dream in which she was leaving everyone, and then I imagined myself touching her and kissing her, making desperate love to her until she agreed to stay.

I knew that was not going to work. For starters, she liked boys—that much I knew. But also, I was nearly thirty years her senior. I was old enough to be her mother, practically old enough to be her grandmother. Not to mention she could certainly file a lawsuit for harassment if I so much as put my hand on her shoulder, let alone touch her in the places—

I brought my hand up to cover my face. I needed to get the image out of my mind, so I got up, and showered. Hearing Cara downstairs in the kitchen, I took a detour to my daughters' room once again. Sitting on the edge of Cassidy's bed, I had only intended to watch her sleep for a while in hopes that the image of my beautiful daughter, sleeping peacefully would erase anything else from my memory.

"Mom?" she asked sleepily, her eyes half open.

"Hi my darling,"I said, leaning over and kissing her cheek lightly. "I didn't mean to wake you—I apologize."

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Yes, baby, everything is just fine," I said as I brushed her hair back, out of her face. "I need to go in early today, but I just missed you. Go back to sleep, darling."

"Okay, Mom," she said as her eyes fluttered shut. "Love you."

"And I love you, Bobbsey, so very much," I replied, kissing her forehead and getting up.

I walked over to Caroline's bed and kissed her, too, but gently enough that I did not wake her. I silently left the house, perplexed at the emptiness I felt inside, despite it all.

* * *

Why I thought the office would be a less distracting place, I am not entirely sure. Signs of Andrea were everywhere and all I could think was that she would only be here for fifty-nine more days.

I told myself that it would be okay—that I should just make the most of her remaining time, and that I should be happy for her when she moves on. It was a wonderful opportunity for her at _The Atlantic_ , and I certainly didn't expect her to remain my assistant forever, did I? My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a Starbucks cup, placed gently in front of me. I looked up and met Andrea's eyes. She spoke no words, but her eyes seemed to be asking me if everything was okay. She was concerned, and I was feeling entirely too vulnerable.

"Cancel my day, and shut the door," I snapped. It was easier this way. I knew this was my defense mechanism, and while I didn't necessarily like the idea of needing defense at all, it was almost an involuntary reaction.

Andrea scurried out, and I was left to myself.

This continued for nearly a week, until Nigel finally confronted me in the hallway. "What do you think you are doing?" he asked.

"I may ask the same of you," I said.

"Miranda, I'm serious. You're not dying or anything, right?"

I chuckled. "No, not dying. Although it feels a bit like it." I added that last part under my breath and instantly regretted it.

"Why? What's going on?" he asked, taking a seat. "Clearly you want to talk about it, or you wouldn't have said anything. Are the girls okay?"

"Yes, yes, they're fine," I said, flicking my wrist. "Really, it's nothing."

"Miranda, could this have anything to do with a certain assistant's recent promotion?"

"What?! No. Don't be ridiculous."

Nigel stared at me. "You're going to miss her," he finally said. "That's it. Your little Ahn-dre-ya is leaving, and you are going to miss her."

"Get out of here or I will call security and have you removed," I said, reaching for my phone.

"No you won't," Nigel said, folding his arms across his chest, "because that would mean you'd have to call Andrea."

I looked up and saw Emily's vacant desk and realized he was right. "Fine, then I'm leaving," I said, getting up and marching past him. It was the least productive week I had ever experienced at work, so leaving at noon on Friday seemed fitting.

* * *

As I sat at home, I realized that being away from the young woman was only fueling my anxiety. My therapist would surely tell me that I need to talk to her and tell her what I'm feeling, and as much as I didn't want to do that, I needed to do _something_.

My daughters were worried about me; I could only feign a headache for so long. Since they had just finished the school year, they were going to stay at their father's for the next few weeks. When they returned, I vowed to myself, I would be back to myself and able to spend time with them.

Sighing, I sent Andrea a text message: _I would like to speak to you tonight when you deliver the book. -MP_

She did not respond until several hours later: _Heading down to the car with the book now. Be there in 20 minutes. -A_

I opened a bottle of wine and poured myself a glass, leaving the bottle and a second glass on the coffee table. I had been going over what I would say in my head for the past few hours, and before I could decide on how to begin, I heard my front door open.

After placing the dry cleaning in the closet, she found her way into the den and softly set the book on the coffee table. "You wanted to talk to me?" she asked quietly, her eyes focused intensely on the carpet.

"Yes, please have a seat, Andrea. Would you like a glass?" I asked, gesturing at the wine. She shook her head and sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap. "Is everything okay?" I asked her. She looked up at me with wide eyes, and it was only then that I realized the absurdity of my question.

"Okay," I said, setting my empty wine glass on the table. "Let me start over and begin by reassuring you that you have done nothing wrong. Andrea, do you understand?"

"Yeah—I mean, yes, Miranda," she said.

"Your time with _Runway_ is almost up, and I want you to know what an impression you have made on me, and on the rest of the staff. While we are all excited for you to truly begin your professional career, I am personally struggling with all of this." I watched the expression on her face change from fear to embarrassment to pride to concern. I could read this young woman like a book and I was surely going to miss that.

"Have you not been well?" Andrea asked, her concern for me apparently outweighing all else.

"No, no, I am fine—physically." I watched as relief, then curiosity colored her cheeks.

"I have grown very attached to you, Andrea, and it is unlike with any other assistants. Your wit and efficiency are quite irreplaceable, and I am a little embarrassed to admit that I have not been handling it well at all."

Andrea stared at me as if I had two heads. I poured her a glass of wine, then emptied the rest of the bottle into my own glass. "Clearly, you were not expecting me to say that," I added.

"No, definitely not," she said, taking a gulp of wine. "Not to sound stupid, but is there anything I can do to help? I mean, surely it's just in your mind. You have countless people around you, and you'll have a new assistant at your side in no time. I'll train her so well you will hardly notice," she added with a smile.

I could feel the tears bubbling up inside. I didn't want a new assistant—I wanted her.

"Does it help when you and I don't see each other so much?" she offered. "I know this week Emily has been running errands and you've pretty much been in your office all day, but we could switch it up. I could be out running errands, and Emily could deliver the book, and it'd be like I wasn't even there."

I am quite sure I looked terrified at that suggestion.

"Or maybe that would be a really bad idea," she quickly said. "I can just follow you everywhere for the next few weeks—that might work better."

I couldn't help but smile and chuckle at her suggestion. She was working so hard to make me feel better—to make things right. She was a truly remarkable human being and I was going to miss the sheer proximity to her spirit. My laugh quickly turned to tears, and I was so preoccupied, I didn't notice her get up and return, sitting much closer to me on the sofa this time.

She handed me a glass of scotch, and I quickly downed the amber liquid. It felt good, searing my throat as it made its way through my body. I hadn't eaten all day, and it was as if I could feel the alcohol seeping into my veins. She took the empty glass from me and set it on the table, then took my hand in hers.

"I am sorry if I have upset you. I didn't fully understand what you were saying before, but I think I get it now." She gently squeezed my hand and handed me a tissue. "We can still keep in touch if you'd like. I mean, I would never expect you to because I know you have far more important things than me, but I like you, Miranda. I always have. Even if you just want to schedule monthly coffee or something. You'll still hear from me after the sixty days," she added with a smile.

"Fifty-two," I said, correcting her. Again, I could not keep the tears from flowing, and I just clutched her hand more tightly.

She gently brushed my arm with her free hand and helped calm me down. For the next half hour, she successfully managed to distract me by telling me stories about the ridiculous things some people were asking of her this week while I was more or less unreachable. Surprisingly, it worked, and I had significantly calmed down.

It was late, so I called her a taxi to take her home. I didn't speak with her all weekend, and Monday morning, she was entirely professional and acted as if she hadn't seen me completely lose it over an assistant moving on. Add that to the list of her talents.

* * *

Later that week, when we were heading to Pastis to meet Charlotte Tilbury for lunch, something changed. Instead of glaring at Andrea until she realized I wanted her to sit first, I placed my hand at the small of her back and gently guided her towards the seat. Of course, no one else noticed. To be fair, I probably wouldn't have either, had Andrea not turned around and silently asked if I was okay. I nodded and mentally vowed to keep my hands to myself.

Over the next few days, I found myself making up ridiculous errands just so that I could spend more time with her.

On Wednesday, an incredibly hot June afternoon, we decided to walk back to the office from a meeting with Thakoon. It was less than a mile back to Elias-Clarke, and the minute we stepped outside, Andrea removed her sweater and tucked it in her bag. She was wearing a lightweight Lilly Pulitzer sundress, and it looked much better without the cardigan. I was wearing a tailored Ralph Lauren linen pantsuit, and I was only able to make it two blocks until I felt a bead of sweat drip down my chest. When we reached the next stoplight, I slipped off the blazer, revealing my cornflower blue, semi-sheer spaghetti strap camisole. It actually wasn't all that much cooler.

When we reached Elias-Clarke, Andrea said something about how she never wanted to walk anywhere in the summer ever again. I agreed, and we both sighed in relief once we stepped inside the air-conditioned building. The sudden change in temperature sent goosebumps through my body, but I was still to warm to put my blazer back on. My arm was sweating from where I was carrying the blazer, and I just needed to cool off first.

As I stepped into the elevator, I was suddenly hyper aware that Andrea was not with me. I quickly called for her to join me in the elevator. Once the doors shut, I closed my eyes and leaned back against the cool mirrored wall of the elevator. I could feel the wet heat of the hair at the base of my neck. Surely I was flushed, and all I wanted was a cold glass of water. Hopefully Emily would have that waiting for me, I thought.

As the elevator neared our floor, I opened my eyes and stretched my back. I was not expecting to be the object of Andrea's gaze. She quickly averted her eyes, and before I could say anything, she was bolting out of the elevator, muttering something about grabbing a change of clothes from the closet.

Once in my office, I set down my things and headed straight to my private en suite to assess the damage, which was significant. I was beginning to feel lightheaded, so I leaned back against the marble wall and took a few deep breaths. Once I had cooled down, it would be better.

Andrea, was just returning from the Closet, and her soft hand on my arm had startled me. "I brought a fresh change of clothes for you. Is there anything else-" she paused and gazed into my eyes.

For a moment, I thought she was going to kill me. I honestly feared for my life for the briefest second, until I saw a flash of desire in her eyes. "Ohhh," I gasped. The intensity of her gaze was overwhelming.

She reached back and shut the bathroom door, never breaking her gaze. "Miranda, I'm going to kiss you now," she said, slowly closing the distance between us.

I couldn't put a coherent sentence together, and instead responded with a grunt and an eager nod.

Her lips are on mine in seconds. She is fast and rough and I can taste a hint of blood on my lip-or maybe it's her lip-where our teeth got in the way. She broked the kiss and ran her hands through my hair, holding me in place. (Not that I had any intentions of moving from that spot.) With her tongue, she traced the beads of sweat down my chin and neck, down my chest to where they disappeared beneath the camisole.

I could feel my own nipples straining against the flimsy fabric. They ached, and Andrea knew just what to do. Her hands were cupping my breasts, her thumbs brushing just the right places, and I couldn't help but scream at the sensation.

Instantly, her lips were on mine again, and I could feel her smiling against my face. "You have to be a little more quiet," she said. Her breath flowed directly into my mouth and that may have been the most erotic thing I had ever experienced.

She reached around and unclasped my bra, quickly slipping the camisole over my head and flinging it down to the ground. Her tongue assaulted my torso, devouring the beads of sweat and leaving a sweet trail of kisses.

"Oh, Andrea," I whispered. There was so much I wanted to say to her, but I couldn't. Not now.  
"Andrea, darling," I said, running my fingers through her hair and tugging her upwards. "I have to finish cleaning up before my meeting."

"Okay," she said. It was clear she was disappointed.

"If you're free this evening, when you come to deliver the book…" I could hardly believe I was inviting my assistant over for-whatever this was.

"Yes," Andrea said quickly. "I'll let you get ready, and I'll finish what I started later tonight," she added with a wink.

Before I could reply, she had already left the room. I didn't know what I was getting myself into, but I couldn't deny the way my body ached for her touch.

* * *

 **[[[Andrea's POV]]]**

No matter how hard I tried to stay awake while Miranda was getting ready, I always turned away from the bathroom light and fell back asleep, only to be roused again when she would gently press her lips to my cheek and whisper, "See you at the office, Andrea."

This morning, I was still half-awake when I felt the mattress dip behind me. I turned around to see what she was doing (sometimes she would sit down to put on her stockings), and she was just watching me, her eyes full of tears. I started to sit up and ask her what was wrong, but she threw herself on me and buried her face in my neck.

"What is it?" I asked, extracting my arms from the duvet and wrapping them around her. I softly kissed the top of her head as I traced circles on her back. I had yet to see her this upset, and it was beginning to concern me.

When she didn't respond, I began running my fingers through her hair and gently caressing her cheek. "Miranda, sweetheart, please tell me what's wrong," I whispered.

Her grip on me tightened. "You—you're leaving me," she said. "The sixty days. It's too short. It's—it wasn't enough time. You're leaving…and I will have no one."

"Miranda, I'm leaving my job, not you," I said in hopes of reassuring her. "I will still be here for you, and it will actually be better. Since I will no longer be working for you, we won't have to hide."

"You are delusional if you think…if you think that will be better," she said. "I spend nearly twenty-four hours a day with you right now…How can you possibly think—?" Her voice trailed off as she curled up more tightly against my chest.

"It's okay," I said quietly, reassuringly. "We don't have to decide anything right now."

I gently guided her chin upwards until our eyes met. I wasn't quite sure how else to convey it. We had this conversation over and over, and I wasn't sure what else I could do to reassure her that I wasn't going anywhere.

She looked in my eyes for what felt like an eternity, then she gently reached up and stroked my cheek. "Andrea, I—I—" she paused and her gaze softened. She almost looked fearful. "I love you," she whispered, quickly closing her eyes and burying her head against my chest. "I'm sorry—I shouldn't have said that. I know, I just ruined everything," she quickly said. "Please forget I said that. Don't leave me."

I sighed and wrapped my arms tightly around her, kissing her gently on the cheek. "Oh, Miranda, I thought we already talked about this. You did not ruin anything." I took her face between my hands and looked her in the eye. "Okay? Do you understand that? I am not going anywhere. And honestly, if after my last day at _Runway_ you don't ask me to come live with you, I will have to look into getting a bigger place-at least a two-bedroom for when the girls come over," I added with a smile.

Miranda looked up at me incredulously. "The-the girls?"

"Yes. Believe it or not, Miranda Priestly, I love you, too. And I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you and your daughters," I said. "I know it's probably a lot right now, so you don't need to respond, at least not right away. I just had to say it."

"Thank you," the older woman whispered, gently pressing her lips to my neck. "Tell me one thing-how long?"

"How long what?"

"How long did you know you loved me?" she asked.

I took a deep breath. "About eighteen months. Paris-the second to the last night."

Miranda gasped. "Why didn't you say something sooner!?"

"One does not just walk up to Miranda Priestly and confess being head over heels for her. You would have laughed at me, then fired me, then found some other way to humiliate me," I said.

"So you waited."

"Well, I did end up losing my patience. That sweat-drenched blue camisole was the death of me."

Miranda smirked. "If I'd have known that was all it would take, I would have worn that a year earlier."

"No," I said. I didn't want to ruin the mood, but I needed to make a clarification. "I had no idea you thought anything of me until that one night, just after I handed in my notice. You opened up to me and let me comfort you-it was everything I wanted to do in Paris but lacked the confidence. That was when it all changed, and I knew I had a chance."

Miranda smiled, tears in her eyes. "If I hadn't been so preoccupied-I am truly sorry for how I behaved in Paris. I would have loved to have your arms around me then, when I was a wreck over my failures as a wife and mother."

"Hey," I whispered. I leaned down and kissed her on the lips. "You are an incredible mother, and an even more incredible and generous girlfriend. Lover? Partner?"

"Partner," she said. "I like that. It implies that we are equals, which in this relationship, we absolutely are, darling."

"I love you, Miranda."

"I love you too, Andrea."

* * *

 _A/N: I'm not happy with the way this turned out, but I'm a little too lazy to go back and fix it, especially the tenses with Miranda's POV. Also, I generally dislike the obvious change in pov, but...well. Hope it's readable._


End file.
